The longest I have ever been away from home was this summer, when I took a week long trip to Florida followed closely by another week long trip to New Providence island. Between the two trips, I only had two days home.
In Florida, three other people and myself were housed in a tiny apartment. Despite the beautiful beaches and wonderful weather, I had begun to hate my family, after all, they had made me sleep on the couch the last four nights. I decided to read my favorite book because on top of the familial hatred I was feeling, I had started to feel normal and ordinary, and that was just too much for me to handle. After readiing that favorite book of mine, I felt wonderful again. I called a good friend of mine that evening and spent hours on the phone with him.
The next day it rained. It was a horrible thunderstorm, so me and the rest of my family decided to stay inside. That did not last very long. Within a couple hours I got so sick of them that I decided to take a walk. The wind drove the rain against my skin, and stung my arms and face. That made me smile. I walked down to the pier, and on the way back I started to sing. To my horror, my voice cracked and wailed, and kept a pitch as well as the ocean was keeping flat. I had been on a song writing strike for so long, my voice had decided to stop working.
A few days later, in the Bahamas, I was again reading my favorite book. I had bought a copy of it for that dear friend of mine, and was marking all of my favorite parts in it. Again my voice was lifted to sing, and again it tormented my ears with the comparison of how it was and how it had been only months ago. Instead of the joyful song I had started, I sang those wonderful words in the most broken hearted blues my voice could make. I was homesick, and feeling like there was nothing special about myself at all. The two of these put together were enough to make me feel that all the world was horrible. And with such feeling in my heart my pitch evened out and my tone became as pain without the jagged edges.
Though I still find myself on a song strike, my long time from home helped me keep my voice from waning completely.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Of Plymouth Plantation
Bradford's writing is very typical of the time period. In fact, it fits so well that I am beginning to wonder if these examples of early American literature were specifically picked out to make a point, or if the style really was that consistent.
The first passage in the book by Bradford shows how most people attributed the events that happened in life to God. He writes about a young man who was making fun of all the people who will die on the boat ride, when he himself is the first to get sick and die (Bradford 15). In the second passage in the book, Bradford talks about how it was God's will that a sailor was saved (Bradford 64). Even though Bradford was a Pilgrim instead of a Puritan, his writing still had references to God's influence in events.
Another Puritan quality that Bradford's writing had was that unadorned style. With some writers, reading their prose is like to reading poetry, but such is not he case with Puritan style writing. Bradford's work is very plain, and in my opinion the stark honesty in Bradford's writing is not nearly as charming as that in the stories we read earlier this week. That is not to say that I found the writing bad, in fact I rather liked it when he wrote about how the healthy people took care of the sick people.
He even makes references to scripture in his writing, a very Puritan quality. When he talks about how the Pilgrims landed in America, he mentions how some apostles were received in a foreign land (Bradford 65). Most Puritan writing has a lot of references to the bible in it, and so does Bradford's writing. All of the references to the bible really make me think about how little of it that I have actually heard about. I had never heard anything about the story Bradford mentioned in his story. I guess people during that era knew their bibles a lot better than people do now.
The first passage in the book by Bradford shows how most people attributed the events that happened in life to God. He writes about a young man who was making fun of all the people who will die on the boat ride, when he himself is the first to get sick and die (Bradford 15). In the second passage in the book, Bradford talks about how it was God's will that a sailor was saved (Bradford 64). Even though Bradford was a Pilgrim instead of a Puritan, his writing still had references to God's influence in events.
Another Puritan quality that Bradford's writing had was that unadorned style. With some writers, reading their prose is like to reading poetry, but such is not he case with Puritan style writing. Bradford's work is very plain, and in my opinion the stark honesty in Bradford's writing is not nearly as charming as that in the stories we read earlier this week. That is not to say that I found the writing bad, in fact I rather liked it when he wrote about how the healthy people took care of the sick people.
He even makes references to scripture in his writing, a very Puritan quality. When he talks about how the Pilgrims landed in America, he mentions how some apostles were received in a foreign land (Bradford 65). Most Puritan writing has a lot of references to the bible in it, and so does Bradford's writing. All of the references to the bible really make me think about how little of it that I have actually heard about. I had never heard anything about the story Bradford mentioned in his story. I guess people during that era knew their bibles a lot better than people do now.
Bradford, William. "Of Plymouth Plantation." Comp. Jeffrey D. Wilhelm, Ph.D. and Douglas Fisher, Ph.D. Glencoe Literature. American Literature ed. Columbus: McGraw-Hill Companies, 2009. 97-99. Print.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Crucible Act One
The Crucible, despite being written in the nineteen fifties, has quite a few characteristics of Puritan writings about it. First of all, the sentence style is very much puritan sounding in the narration. The author uses fairly short, declarative sentences with little extra in them to add much flavor. This can be seen very well in the beginning narration, and especially in the following passage.
Another Puritan quality in the writing is the many references to religion. The main difference in the play and Puritan writing is who the characters reference when they talk. In Puritan writings, God is talked about in every aspect of every event. In The Crucible, the devil is the constant religious figure being referenced and talked about. Although the story is centered around accused demonic encounters, were it written by a Puritan it would have a thousand time more references to God himself.
One thing that shows how the Puritan faith was declining was that all of Reverend Parris' sermons were about the impending doom awaiting in hell for the faithless. Mr. Proctor says "I have trouble enough without I come five mile to hear him preach only hellfire and bloody damnation. Take it to heart, Mr. Parris. There are many others who stay away from church these days because you hardly ever mention God anymore (Miller 29)." When the Puritan faith was declining, the preachers tried to pull their parishioners back by scaring them with such speeches of hell. I am really not surprised that that did not work, because no one really wants to be told they are going to hell. You catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar.
Another sign of declining faith in the region was that even though Procter did not go to church often at all, he was still a very respected member of the community. In the old Massachusetts theocracy, people such as Roger Williams were exiled for a difference in belief. In the days of the Salem witch trials, faith must have waned a great deal for such absence from church to make so little difference.
Overall I think that The Crucible is a very good example of Puritan writing even though it was written much later than that period. I think that a lot of it is different than Puritan writing, especially in all of the details in the author's descriptions, but that for the most part it is very close.
Miller, Arthur. The Crucible. New York, NY: Penguin, 1996. Print.
The edge of the wilderness was close by. The American continent stretched endlessly west, and it was full of mystery for them. It stood, dark and threatening, over their shoulders night and day, for out of it Indian tribes marauded from time to time, and Reverend Parris had parishioners who had lost relatives to these heathen. (Miller 5)Though the phrase "dark and threatening" probably would have been omitted if the play were written by an actual Puritan, the lack of drama and passion when talking about Indian killings certainly savors strongly of Puritan.
Another Puritan quality in the writing is the many references to religion. The main difference in the play and Puritan writing is who the characters reference when they talk. In Puritan writings, God is talked about in every aspect of every event. In The Crucible, the devil is the constant religious figure being referenced and talked about. Although the story is centered around accused demonic encounters, were it written by a Puritan it would have a thousand time more references to God himself.
One thing that shows how the Puritan faith was declining was that all of Reverend Parris' sermons were about the impending doom awaiting in hell for the faithless. Mr. Proctor says "I have trouble enough without I come five mile to hear him preach only hellfire and bloody damnation. Take it to heart, Mr. Parris. There are many others who stay away from church these days because you hardly ever mention God anymore (Miller 29)." When the Puritan faith was declining, the preachers tried to pull their parishioners back by scaring them with such speeches of hell. I am really not surprised that that did not work, because no one really wants to be told they are going to hell. You catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar.
Another sign of declining faith in the region was that even though Procter did not go to church often at all, he was still a very respected member of the community. In the old Massachusetts theocracy, people such as Roger Williams were exiled for a difference in belief. In the days of the Salem witch trials, faith must have waned a great deal for such absence from church to make so little difference.
Overall I think that The Crucible is a very good example of Puritan writing even though it was written much later than that period. I think that a lot of it is different than Puritan writing, especially in all of the details in the author's descriptions, but that for the most part it is very close.
Miller, Arthur. The Crucible. New York, NY: Penguin, 1996. Print.
Journal 3
What would I do if I were held hostage? I have never thought about it before, but I wonder if anyone would even dare take me as a hostage. I would undoubtedly be horrible at it. In fact, it would be more tempting to laugh at them than cringe in fear. If it was a situation like Mary Rowlandson's, I would probably end up causing more problems for the people who were in charge of me than I could be of use. I do not learn how to do new things very well, and when I walk I am like a small force of destruction causing injury to myself and any others within a ten foot radius. After a week my captors would be begging me to leave.
I wonder how my captors would treat me. I am not easily scared, because I am convinced that the only way I could possibly die is in a car accident. As you would imagine, driving places makes me a little uncomfortable. But unless they made me drive them places, I doubt I would be very much afraid. Perhaps my total lack of fear would make them hate me, and let me go even before I destroy everything in a week. Or maybe it would make them like me enough to wait a week and a half before getting rid of me. I suppose it would depend on the kind of people they were, and whether they were really wicked (I rather like that word), or just ignorant and misled.
I am having a lot more fun considering how horrible the situation would be than I initially thought I would. My captors would think they were making things horrible for me, and in reality it would be them who would be pulling their hair out. Insert evil laugh here. Maybe if they kept me an entire month I could accidentally destroy the building I was staying in. Those poor kidnappers, they would have no idea what they would be in for.
I wonder how my captors would treat me. I am not easily scared, because I am convinced that the only way I could possibly die is in a car accident. As you would imagine, driving places makes me a little uncomfortable. But unless they made me drive them places, I doubt I would be very much afraid. Perhaps my total lack of fear would make them hate me, and let me go even before I destroy everything in a week. Or maybe it would make them like me enough to wait a week and a half before getting rid of me. I suppose it would depend on the kind of people they were, and whether they were really wicked (I rather like that word), or just ignorant and misled.
I am having a lot more fun considering how horrible the situation would be than I initially thought I would. My captors would think they were making things horrible for me, and in reality it would be them who would be pulling their hair out. Insert evil laugh here. Maybe if they kept me an entire month I could accidentally destroy the building I was staying in. Those poor kidnappers, they would have no idea what they would be in for.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
puritan writing reaction blog
Even though Mary Rowlandson and Anne Bradstreet would not have been typical writers in that time period, being women, their writings are still very typical of a Puritan of that time. Among the Puritan qualities their writings have are interpretations of events as works of God, unadorned writing style, and were written about true events. Something else worth noting is that despite the plainness of the style, these women are still able to make their writings sort of touching.
When Mary Rowlandson talks about the small good things that came her way while she was a captive, she always credits God for them. For instance, when she recalls how her youngest child died and she was forced to spend the night beside it, she writes "I have thought since of the wonderful goodness of God to me, preserving me so in the use of my reason and senses in that distressed time" (Rowlandson 83). Even though something horrible had happened she still thanks God for that one small blessing. When Anne Bradstreet reflects on how her house was destroyed, she rebukes herself with the thought that God had given all of that to her, and it was his right to take it away if he wished (Bradstreet 16-19). Both women see events as acts of God, and because they are works of God the women always look to the bright side. After all, God only does things for the good of his people. So even though the writings are about sad things, there is still an optimistic air about them.
Reading through the two works, I do not think that I read a single simile or metaphor. Even in descriptions that could use that kind of detail, like when Mary describes how much she worried about her children, the language is simple and to the point (Rowlandson 84-85). In Anne's work the amount of flouring language is about the same, and it is poetry for God's sake! The closest she even comes to that kind of description is when she writes about all of the things that will never happen again in her house (Bradstreet 29-34). Even without all of the long descriptions that I am accustomed to, both works still make me sad because of what the are about. The way the things are written makes me feel like all of the fancy words and long expressions would get in the way of the feelings behind the words. It would seem sort of like putting a peacock tail on a person, useless and ugly. I also think that it is kind of funny that I used a simile to describe why Puritans should not use things such as similes.
Typically Puritans wrote about the things that happened in their lives because these things were the real workings of God, there by making them better than any fiction. Both Mary Rowlandson and Anne Bradstreet wrote about actual events in their lives instead of things they had imagined. because the things they wrote about were true, even though the language was plain they were still able to get across the way they felt about what happened very clearly. I really liked the writings because of this.
Bradstreet, Anne. "Upon the Burning of Our House." Comp. Jeffrey D. Wilhelm, Ph.D. and Douglas Fisher, Ph.D. Glencoe Literature. American Literature ed. Columbus: McGraw-Hill Companies, 2009. 97-99. Print.
Rowlandson, Mary. "A Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson." Comp. Jeffrey D. Wilhelm, Ph.D. and Douglas Fisher, Ph.D. Glencoe Literature. American Literature ed. Columbus: McGraw-Hill Companies, 2009. 97-99. Print.
When Mary Rowlandson talks about the small good things that came her way while she was a captive, she always credits God for them. For instance, when she recalls how her youngest child died and she was forced to spend the night beside it, she writes "I have thought since of the wonderful goodness of God to me, preserving me so in the use of my reason and senses in that distressed time" (Rowlandson 83). Even though something horrible had happened she still thanks God for that one small blessing. When Anne Bradstreet reflects on how her house was destroyed, she rebukes herself with the thought that God had given all of that to her, and it was his right to take it away if he wished (Bradstreet 16-19). Both women see events as acts of God, and because they are works of God the women always look to the bright side. After all, God only does things for the good of his people. So even though the writings are about sad things, there is still an optimistic air about them.
Reading through the two works, I do not think that I read a single simile or metaphor. Even in descriptions that could use that kind of detail, like when Mary describes how much she worried about her children, the language is simple and to the point (Rowlandson 84-85). In Anne's work the amount of flouring language is about the same, and it is poetry for God's sake! The closest she even comes to that kind of description is when she writes about all of the things that will never happen again in her house (Bradstreet 29-34). Even without all of the long descriptions that I am accustomed to, both works still make me sad because of what the are about. The way the things are written makes me feel like all of the fancy words and long expressions would get in the way of the feelings behind the words. It would seem sort of like putting a peacock tail on a person, useless and ugly. I also think that it is kind of funny that I used a simile to describe why Puritans should not use things such as similes.
Typically Puritans wrote about the things that happened in their lives because these things were the real workings of God, there by making them better than any fiction. Both Mary Rowlandson and Anne Bradstreet wrote about actual events in their lives instead of things they had imagined. because the things they wrote about were true, even though the language was plain they were still able to get across the way they felt about what happened very clearly. I really liked the writings because of this.
Bradstreet, Anne. "Upon the Burning of Our House." Comp. Jeffrey D. Wilhelm, Ph.D. and Douglas Fisher, Ph.D. Glencoe Literature. American Literature ed. Columbus: McGraw-Hill Companies, 2009. 97-99. Print.
Rowlandson, Mary. "A Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson." Comp. Jeffrey D. Wilhelm, Ph.D. and Douglas Fisher, Ph.D. Glencoe Literature. American Literature ed. Columbus: McGraw-Hill Companies, 2009. 97-99. Print.
Journal 2
In the river that runs to the sea there are many different creatures. Some of whom are kind, and others wicked. The truly kind creatures are easy to spot, but those that would betray trust for their own gain are much harder to see. Here follows the story involving one such betrayal.
Not long ago a very lovely den lay in the side of the river. It was in the grassy bank of one of the river's slower portions, and half of hole was above the surface of the water. As inconvenient as this may sound, it was situated so that through out the day light played in changing colors on the top of the water and on the sand underneath. There lived a rather large catfish, and needless to say he was the envy of many in that stretch of the river.
One day a rather young bass introduced himself to the catfish. He was a very well mannered and polite bass, so the catfish invited him to have tea with him in his den. The bass, who claimed to have always wanted to see such a place, readily agreed. While the catfish was making the tea, the bass looked around and noticed an opening in the back of the den. He asked where it went. "Oh, no where." replied the catfish.
When night came and the only light in the catfish hole was that of the stars and moon, the bass crept back in. The catfish awoke in the morning to find his self outside his den, with many bass inside. When he tried to run them out from the back enterance, he fount it too filled with bass. Knowing that there was little more he could do, he left.
When word got around that the catfish had been removed from his cave, many creatures were outraged, especially the beavers. The beavers, it would seem, had been very good friends with the catfish. They had a dam nearby, and they warned all the fish in the area and broke it open.
The water came rushing down the river quickly and strongly, and even the catfish's den was no protection from it. When the water slowed to its normal pace, the other creatures found that the bass were gone and the catfish had returned.
Thus it is that you should never abuse people's hospitality, because people who offer it often have friends.
Not long ago a very lovely den lay in the side of the river. It was in the grassy bank of one of the river's slower portions, and half of hole was above the surface of the water. As inconvenient as this may sound, it was situated so that through out the day light played in changing colors on the top of the water and on the sand underneath. There lived a rather large catfish, and needless to say he was the envy of many in that stretch of the river.
One day a rather young bass introduced himself to the catfish. He was a very well mannered and polite bass, so the catfish invited him to have tea with him in his den. The bass, who claimed to have always wanted to see such a place, readily agreed. While the catfish was making the tea, the bass looked around and noticed an opening in the back of the den. He asked where it went. "Oh, no where." replied the catfish.
When night came and the only light in the catfish hole was that of the stars and moon, the bass crept back in. The catfish awoke in the morning to find his self outside his den, with many bass inside. When he tried to run them out from the back enterance, he fount it too filled with bass. Knowing that there was little more he could do, he left.
When word got around that the catfish had been removed from his cave, many creatures were outraged, especially the beavers. The beavers, it would seem, had been very good friends with the catfish. They had a dam nearby, and they warned all the fish in the area and broke it open.
The water came rushing down the river quickly and strongly, and even the catfish's den was no protection from it. When the water slowed to its normal pace, the other creatures found that the bass were gone and the catfish had returned.
Thus it is that you should never abuse people's hospitality, because people who offer it often have friends.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Journal 1
Once, a long time ago, rain fell from the sky quietly and gently, and never was accompanied by lightning and thunder. Lightning never destroyed trees or homes, and everything grew tall and beautifully.
One day a young man was walking through the forest. While resting beneath the tall trees, because even walking is a rest in such a place, he came upon a very old man. The old man invited the young man to sit down and speak with him. The young man was not a mean spirited person, but he did not know the old man and was not fond of strangers.
He answered rather rudely, saying "No, I will not sit with you. I do not know you, and you look very strange besides." It was true that the old man looked very strange. His hair was shaggy and grey, and his face was deeply lined with age. On top of that he wore the strangest clothing the young man had ever seen. As true as it was, it was still a very impolite thing to mention.
The young man's refusal made the old man very angry, mostly because of the indignant manned of the speaker. "I am many years your elder, and even if you do not wish to sit with me you should have a little respect." the old man replied. "After all, I have seen times and places that you have not the slightest notion of."
At this the young man became annoyed. As I said before, he was by no means a bad person, but even the best among us can have trouble taking criticism sometimes even from someone with as much wisdom as their elders. He answered "I do not owe you any respect, and now I shall be leaving."
The rain spirit stood and looked at the impudent young man who had treated him with so little courtesy. After studying him for a moment, he sprang into the sky. A storm began, the likes of which the young man had never before seen. Thunder and lightning, which were before never so much as heard of, flew out of the sky. Lightning kill favorite trees. The cold wind knocked tall branches out of the trees. The old man's fury continued until the grove was a wreck.
Even now the old man is still enraged by the young man's rudeness to him, and even now thunder and lightning accompany the larger storms.
One day a young man was walking through the forest. While resting beneath the tall trees, because even walking is a rest in such a place, he came upon a very old man. The old man invited the young man to sit down and speak with him. The young man was not a mean spirited person, but he did not know the old man and was not fond of strangers.
He answered rather rudely, saying "No, I will not sit with you. I do not know you, and you look very strange besides." It was true that the old man looked very strange. His hair was shaggy and grey, and his face was deeply lined with age. On top of that he wore the strangest clothing the young man had ever seen. As true as it was, it was still a very impolite thing to mention.
The young man's refusal made the old man very angry, mostly because of the indignant manned of the speaker. "I am many years your elder, and even if you do not wish to sit with me you should have a little respect." the old man replied. "After all, I have seen times and places that you have not the slightest notion of."
At this the young man became annoyed. As I said before, he was by no means a bad person, but even the best among us can have trouble taking criticism sometimes even from someone with as much wisdom as their elders. He answered "I do not owe you any respect, and now I shall be leaving."
The rain spirit stood and looked at the impudent young man who had treated him with so little courtesy. After studying him for a moment, he sprang into the sky. A storm began, the likes of which the young man had never before seen. Thunder and lightning, which were before never so much as heard of, flew out of the sky. Lightning kill favorite trees. The cold wind knocked tall branches out of the trees. The old man's fury continued until the grove was a wreck.
Even now the old man is still enraged by the young man's rudeness to him, and even now thunder and lightning accompany the larger storms.
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